


share and share alike

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anyone goes after you—” Robbie says.</p><p>“Count on anyone but Lombardi,” Georgie says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	share and share alike

Georgie won’t fucking go away. Obviously Robbie doesn’t expect him to only pop up in the room, on the bench — like, sure, that’d be nice, but it’s not fucking realistic. Obviously he’s at team shit, of course he has to be at team shit, but Robbie really doesn’t think he needs to be sitting one seat away from Robbie at dinner after a win against the Rangers. It’s a big table. 

David finally seems to be getting into Breaking Bad, so: success, and they’re talking about it while Georgie talks to Matthews about some other shit, everything nice and compartmentalized despite the fact that Robbie can see Georgie’s stupid fucking face behind David’s, and is unable to ignore the fact that he’s wasting food. Guess he didn’t grow out of that shit since college.

Robbie doesn’t know why Georgie doesn’t just ask for broccoli instead of mixed vegetables. He only ever seems to eat the broccoli, leaves everything else on the edge, like if he pushes it into a small enough space it will look like he ate more. It’s the kind of thing a picky kid would do. Robbie was taught from an early age not to take more than he could eat, and it pisses him off, thinking about good food getting scraped into the garbage. As Georgie’s sins go, it’s pretty minor, but it’s the one Robbie’s glaring about today. Gotta have a focus, right? 

“You want it?” Georgie asks.

“What?” Robbie asks.

“You’re staring, you want my veg?” Georgie asks. “Trade you for your broccoli.”

“Fine,” Robbie says. He doesn’t want it going into the trash, and broccoli’s like maybe a quarter of mixed vegetables, so bonus nutrients. “Give me your plate.”

Georgie hands it over to Chaps, who looks at Robbie weirdly when he passes it to Robbie. “He eats like a child,” Robbie says. “Won’t eat his vegetables.”

“Broccoli is a vegetable,” Georgie argues, and Robbie’s hit with deja vu he doesn’t want.

“Yeah, well, part of being an adult is eating more than one thing,” Robbie snaps.

“Islanders tomorrow,” Chaps says, and Robbie follows his cue. It's not like he wants to fight with Georgie.

“How’re you feeling about it,” Robbie asks, scraping Georgie’s vegetables onto his plate, transferring broccoli onto Georgie's. “First time back, right?”

“They’re probably going to boo me,” Chapman says, sounding a little self-deprecating. He’s probably not wrong. Him and Kurmazov signing with Washington together was a big fucking deal and probably a dagger in the heart to Islanders fans. Robbie doesn’t see the team being happy about it either, since they fucking _suck_ without the two of them doing the heavy lifting. Probably going to try to flex their muscles, prove their worth.

“Anyone goes after you—” Robbie says.

“Count on anyone but Lombardi,” Georgie says.

“You know what, fuck you, you don’t get any broccoli,” Robbie says. He tries to make it sound light, but from the way David’s looking at them, he doesn’t quite manage. He hands the plate back — which has a couple sprigs of broccoli, maybe, but fuck Georgie, Robbie’s keeping the rest.

Ellie asks Chaps for an impromptu scouting report of the Isles, and Robbie listens because Chaps obviously knows his shit, eats his food with methodical focus, including Georgie’s stupid vegetables, which are fucking delicious, clearing his plate in record time. “Gonna find the Celtics game,” Robbie says, and Matty comes with. They find a booth tucked away but with a great angle on the game, and Robbie pretends he isn’t hiding. Elliott also pretends Robbie isn’t hiding. Ellie’s a champ.

David joins them soon after, and they peaceably watch the game in blessed, Georgie free silence. It’s great. 

They have a different waitress, over here. She brought David a stout, which wasn’t what he ordered, but of course he's too Canadian to make a fuss about it. He’s been eyeing his drink suspiciously for like ten minutes, and it takes Elliott peacing off to find Crane for David to finally take a sip. He then immediately makes a face like a baby eating a lemon. Not that they ever did that to Robbie’s niece, because that would be mean. But if they had done that to Robbie’s niece…that’s the face Chaps is making.

“Not a stout man, Chaps?” Robbie asks, trying not to laugh.

“I guess not,” David says, going back to suspiciously looking at his beer like it’s poisoned.

“That’s not a stout, it’s a porter,” Georgie says, coming from fucking nowhere, sliding into the booth beside David. Fucking pretentious bullshit, like anyone even knows or cares what the fucking difference is. “I think they’ve given up on serving the main table, I’ve had an empty pint for like twenty minutes.”

“You can have mine if you want?” David offers. “I had a sip, but —”

“Thanks babe,” Georgie says. Chaps immediately goes pink, and it’s kind of adorable, or would be if he didn’t look visibly uncomfortable. 

“Don’t worry,” Robbie says. “He’s not flirting, you don’t have to jump back three feet and yell ‘no homo’. He calls everyone babe.”

“Hey, I could be flirting,” Georgie says, shoots David a grin, the one that works like a fucking charm on everyone, and David goes even pinker. 

“Um,” David says, kind of strangled. “I have to talk to Kurmazov about something,” he says, all in a rush, and then escapes the table almost as fast.

“Don’t fuck with him,” Robbie says as soon as he’s out of hearing range. “Don’t fuck with him to fuck with me, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“Robbie, jesus, I call everyone babe. You literally just _told_ him that, so obviously that’s something you’re aware of,” Georgie says. “Can you not take everything personally?”

“Like you’re _not_ doing it to fuck with me,” Robbie snaps. “Or maybe just to fuck him. What, you haven’t learned not to fuck around with teammates by now?”

“I mean, I got a long term relationship with my best friend out of it, I’m not sure what you think I would have learned,” Georgie says, like it was a good thing. Like they’re not stuck in the detritus of where it crashed and burned right fucking now, with no one to blame but Georgie. Though it wasn’t fucking his teammate so much as fucking other people that led to that, so technically he’s right. He’s always fucking right on semantics.

Robbie takes a breath in, jagged. “Fuck you,” he manages. “We’re not talking about this.”

“You brought it up!” Georgie says. “What do you want from me here? You want me not to talk about it? Okay, I won’t talk about it, but I can’t read your mind!”

“I want you to fuck off out of my _life_ ,” Robbie says.

“Well that’s kind of tough shit for both of us, isn’t it,” Georgie says flatly. “I didn’t ask to come here, Robbie.”

Robbie exhales. “I know,” he says, because it’s not like he can blame him for that, as much as he’d like to. “That doesn’t mean you have to hang around me all the fucking time.”

“You ever come to a team in the middle of a season?” Georgie says. “When everyone knows everyone and no one’s doing the getting to know you shit you get at the start?”

“You know I haven’t,” Robbie says. “Don’t do the rhetorical question shit, just make your fucking point.”

“They’ve been nice,” Georgie says, loosely waving back, and Robbie doesn’t know if that’s the Capitals as a whole or Matthews and Chaps, who he’s been hanging around, which unfortunately has the side-effect of them being guys _Robbie_ spends his time with. Except he does, and he gets it. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. “I don’t exactly want to sit beside Quincy and wait for him to make me friends,” Georgie says.

“Okay,” Robbie says. “I get it.”

“I’m not trying to fuck with you,” Georgie says. “Okay? I wouldn’t.”

He’s just really good at it without trying. Fucking typical Georgie.

“Word of advice, then, Chapman looks like he wants to die of embarrassment and that’s on you,” Robbie says, flicking his eyes over to where Chaps has his shoulders hunched at the bar. Robbie was kind of weighing whether he’d casually throw the dudes thing into conversation soon, before it became this whole unsaid thing, but uh. Maybe that isn’t a good fucking idea, judging from his reaction to Georgie casually flirting with him. Which is just another great thing happening during Roberto Lombardi’s Least Favorite Road Trip of Ever, Including That One When He Was Nine and Threw Up In The Car Three Times And The Car Stunk Like Puke The Rest Of The Trip. He never thought it would be unseated, but there it is.

“I got it, I’m going,” Georgie says, getting up.

“Enjoy your stout,” Robbie calls after him, and can see Georgie visibly resisting the urge to correct him. He bets it hurts not to. He hopes it fucking does.

*  


Robbie learned pretty early on that no food is safe around Georgie. It isn’t even that he eats more than everyone, just that as soon as the food isn’t his, he wants it. Just a bite. Then another bite. Then Robbie’s lost half his lunch before he blinks twice. There are some guys on the roster who have started eating with their shoulders hunched protectively over their plates, head on a swivel in case Georgie comes around, but somehow he still scams his way into free food.

They’re at a restaurant after a game. A win, and Robbie’s feeling pretty generous towards Georgie considering he netted the game winning goal with a rocket from the point and handed Robbie an assist in the process. Generous enough that he lets Georgie snatch two sprigs of broccoli before he elbows him. “You have veggies too, dude,” Robbie says.

“I ate all the broccoli already,” Georgie says. Robbie looks over, and he’s basically thrown around all the vegetables on his plate to root out the broccoli, pushed the cauliflower into a corner. Robbie guesses it’s been shunned.

“Fine, give me your cauliflower, you can have my broccoli,” Robbie says.

“Deal,” Georgie says, “give me your plate.”

“No way,” Robbie says. He gives Georgie his plate, he’s probably losing steak in the bargain. “Give me yours.”

“Married,” Braden sing songs across from them while Robbie transfers cauliflower to his plate, broccoli to Georgie’s.

“Not my fault Georgie won’t eat his vegetables,” Robbie says.

“Broccoli is a vegetable,” George argues. 

“And they argue like a married couple too,” Devon says. “You guys are worse than my parents.”

“You’re worse than your parents,” Robbie mutters, then bumps Georgie’s outstretched fist.

“Sad,” Devon says. “That was sad, Roberto.”

“I thought it was good,” Georgie says. “I mean, I haven’t even met your parents, but I’m 100% sure he’s speaking the truth.”

“You liking something Robbie does isn’t actually a support,” Braden says. “Robbie could make a fucking knock knock joke and you’d laugh.”

“Orange you glad,” Robbie deadpans, and grins when Georgie starts snickering.

“Point proven,” Braden says. “Thanks for the help, Rob.”

“Any time,” Robbie says, then, “Damnit, Georgie, you still have your own carrots.”

“Yours looked better,” Georgie says, still chewing.

“One day someone’s going to stab you with a fork,” Braden says. “You know that, right?”

“Might be today,” Robbie threatens, but Georgie doesn’t look particularly worried.

Robbie, along with some of the smarter guys, figures out that if you save your vegetables for last, your chances of Georgie filching go down considerably. Protein goes first, can’t lose your protein, then carbs, then vegetables. He can’t shield his food, because Georgie’s a giant with longer reach than him, but by God can he eat it before Georgie has a chance to. 

“You’re going to give yourself a stomachache,” Georgie says. 

Robbie chews his chicken aggressively in response. Honestly, the eating fast thing works for him well on campus, because the shit he’s eating at res is hardly the kind of shit you want to linger over. Though this is possibly the driest chicken of all time and he’s going to die still chewing it.

Georgie snatches his roll.

Robbie swallows forcibly. “Goddamnit, Georgie,” he says. 

Georgie scoots his plate closer to Robbie. “Green beans,” he says.

“I wanted _bread_ ,” Robbie says, but starts eating the green beans off Georgie’s plate. He knows what they’d be getting from the guys: ‘I don’t even let my girlfriend eat off my plate’, ‘oh my god, you two are so codependent’, yadda yadda, gay joke, gay joke. But hey, none of them are here, so whatever. Georgie rips the roll in half, puts half of it back on Robbie’s plate.

“There you go, babe,” he says.

“It was mine in the first place,” Robbie points out. “You don’t get to feel good about sharing the food you _stole from me_.”

Georgie knocks his knee against Robbie’s. “I do anyway,” he says.

“Of course you do,” Robbie says, and he should pull his knee away, but doesn’t, leaves it pressed against Georgie’s through dinner, and pretends not to notice Georgie isn’t pulling away either.


End file.
